


Dealing in Non-Ideals

by maccabird_23



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: Just beyond the door, Erik could hear the bustle of the palace, people walking and talking. It made him feel less alone with his thoughts. Like he could get up and leave at any moment if he wanted. But first, he thought, letting his hand wander back to his stomach, he had to figure out this whole mess. It wasn’t the most ideal scenario he found himself in but he was used to living in non-ideal situations.





	Dealing in Non-Ideals

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a special thanks to [ben_jaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded) who had to suffer through beta reading this fic twice in one day. Then asking for title suggestions at 1 am just for me to use the title I already had. SORRY ABOUT THAT! Also, for inspiring me with their awesome fic [Unexpected Heat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284677/chapters/32950776) which all of you should read if you haven't. I wouldn't have been able to write my first Black Panther fic without you!

 

Erik had spent his life hopping from one non-ideal situation to another, barely blinking when worst-case scenarios happened over and over again – leaving him battered and scarred but still alive. That’s why he could barely hold a shrug when Shuri ran through the list of injuries, hesitating before admitting what Erik somehow, kinda already knew.

“You are eleven weeks and four days into your pregnancy… to be exact.” She fiddled with her screen, biting her lip before meeting Erik’s eyes. He gave her nothing. He should have been dead. Knowing that he was alive, now responsible for an extra life only made it worst.

“Cut the shit, Princess. Either go away or show me what you got on that screen.” He needed to be pragmatic about this – get it over with and figure out what to do next.

“It’s just… there’s more…” Erik snapped, banging on the table with his uninjured arm, almost regretting it as it caused more pain to shiver down his aching body. But he didn’t have time for this gentle Wakanda shit. “Spit it out.”

Two Dora Milaje stepped closer but tentatively, without the force or anger he’d seen not so long ago. Neither of them had weapons. Erik shook his head. They were on some bullshit if they thought he was any less dangerous just because he was injured and pregnant.

“There are two of them.” She flipped the screen, and Erik took a moment to let his emotions reign in – let his eyes scan the moving, grey image. Two blurry, elongated heads, with bent limbs sticking out in every direction, a long membrane separating them.  “Would you care to know more?”

Erik looked at the teenager, trying to figure out what she must think of him. If she thought he didn’t care that there was life growing in him. If she still saw him as a bloodthirsty killer. Or worst, she now saw him as a pregnant Omega, who would soften at the sight of his growing children and submit to a life of being a bearer. “Nah, not really?”

He turned in his bed, covering himself with an extra blanket, and closed his eyes. He was dead tired, aching from every body part that still had feeling and so fucking scared. But he’d get through it, twenty-nine more weeks, give or take. Enough time for him to heal up, give birth and get the fuck out of here.

“Can I get some water, though?” He mumbled, only half serious and kinda expecting to be ignored. He tried not to flinch back when a Dora Milaje was by his side a second later, a glass of water in her hand. He took it, eyeing her placid face as he drank.

“Great thirst is very normal. When my father was…”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Erik snapped, pushing the glass back in her hand. He repeated the words to himself, finally giving in to his weary body and drifting off into a fitful sleep. “I don’t give a fuck.” And if he thought it enough, then it would be true.

He was moved to his own room a week later. “No cuffs?” He turned to Okoye who stood guard at the entrance of his room… rooms. It was like his own damn apartment. He let his hands card through the mixed furs that covered his bed. The windows were floor to ceiling. The light burned so deeply he had to do a double take to figure out that they weren’t real flames but simulated light that shone through torches at every corner of the room.

“T’Challa said not cuffs, no chains, no locks. Not even a guard unless you requested it.” Erik snorted with derision, Okoye raising an eyebrow at his displeasure. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Is it to yours?” Erik asked, turning to the woman who must hate him. He had killed one of her soldiers with his own hands, hundreds more with his command. “I killed your people and just because your King has a soft spot for pregnant Omegas, now I’m gonna be sitting pretty in this palace while you’re still cleaning up all the damage I caused.”

Okoye paused, taking a moment to close the large door behind her before stepping closer to Erik. For a moment, he thought that she’d take the chance and finish him off, deciding for herself that Erik didn’t deserve to live. Not that he didn’t agree but without thinking he felt an arm go up, covering his lower belly.

He took a breath, thinking to himself things he heard all his life. This is why Omegas were good for nothing but spreading their legs and getting knocked up. Why the fuck waste all that education and Navy Seal training on someone who would wind up in this exact predicament. Cowering in a corner, uselessly trying to protect their unborn baby, forgetting all their training as their naturally submissive instincts kicked in.

Erik blinked straightening his shoulders and tightening his fists. The fuck he was going to let all those voices be right. “Planning on finishing what your King couldn’t?”

Okoye sighed, turning her back to Erik and stepping over to the sofa on the other side of the room. She took a seat, catching Erik’s eyes before responding. “T’Challa is a good man… sometimes too good but if you think that his treatment of you angers me or anyone, then you genuinely know nothing about the country you tried to conquer.”

She left without saying another word, without even closing the door fully behind her. Maybe it was her peace offering, something Erik didn’t deserve but appreciated. Just beyond the door, he could hear the bustle of the palace, people walking and talking.

It made him feel less alone with his thoughts. Like he could get up and leave at any moment if he wanted. But first, he thought, letting his hand wander back to his stomach, he had to figure out this whole mess. It wasn’t the most ideal scenario he found himself in, but he was used to living in non-ideal situations.

Erik was awoken the next morning by the daunting sight of Queen Ramonda. Erik didn’t know how long she must have been standing there watching him sleep but gingerly pushed himself up on the bed with his good arm. “Queen Ramonda?”  

“Not auntie?” She bit back, leaning down and past Erik to adjust a panel of buttons just to the side of the bed. Erik watched wearily as the lights brightened and dimmed before disappearing altogether. The brightness had been bothering him all night, but he hadn’t cared enough at that moment to fix it. Almost as if reading his mind she responded, “Those lights can be quite perturbing. And I should know. These used to be my rooms.”

Erik quirked a brow, a question on the tip of his tongue but the queen just shook her head. “There’s time enough for that later. But first, you must be starving.”

Erik shrugged, not really knowing what to make of her kindness and not wanting to seem too eager to take it. “I can eat.”

Breakfast, as Erik found out, was a whole ass event in a large hall with a table extended so long that they could have eaten two Thanksgiving dinners off of it. The most disconcerting part was the dozen-plus people that Erik didn’t know but felt vaguely familiar.

He chewed, focusing on his plate and trying not to inhale the food he was being served. It wasn’t like they starved him, but it’d been a while since he let himself enjoy food. There’d always been things that were important, situations where survival and revenge became his only focus.

Conversation went on around and through him in multiple dialects and languages that he could only catch hints of here and there. When someone spoke out in English, he sighed, knowing it was directed towards him. He was hoping, best case scenario that he’d just be ignored. “You should eat more figs. They are good for the twice blessed.”

Erik screwed up his face, glaring at the juicy stuffed figs on his plate. He wondered how many in Wakanda knew. If this is how they calmed down the hoards of angry villagers and warriors.  _ Don’t worry about Killmonger. He’s nothing but an Omega. Pregnant and pacified.  _ He looked up at the elderly woman who spoke, her grey hair ornate with precious metals. Everything about her commanded respect. “It’s none of your goddam business what I eat or don’t eat.”

She seemed unperturbed, smiling brightly at him as she shared something in her own dialect with the man next to her, who laughed softly. He would have been pissed, but it really didn’t feel like he was being laughed at; it left him in a strange headspace, where he wanted to attack but didn’t know what his target was. “You’re most definitely right, N’Jadaka. When I was pregnant with your great-aunt, I bit at any hand that tried to put the right food on my plate. So I will  _ mind my own goddam business.” _

Erik felt something knot in his stomach as he took in the new information. He looked up at the elder, taking in her features, turning to the faces around the table until they landed on Queen Ramonda. He shared a look with her, questioning without asking and she responded, “Everyone at this table is family. Your family.”

It all started falling into place for Erik at that moment. Why so many of the faces looked familiar. He recognized the crook of noses, the jut of chins and the curve of mouths as his own, his reflection staring back at him in different people. He shook his head, not wanting to think about it too much. What it meant, what he didn’t want it to mean to him.

“So what? So you think you can air all my dirty laundry to these people just ‘cus we share blood? That didn’t seem to matter when your husband killed my father. Left me to grow up in the streets.” The queen flinched like the words caused her physical pain and that made Erik feel like himself again. It brought him back in his element, feeling pain and causing pain.

The hand that covered his was almost a shock, small and calloused, trying but failing to calm his shaking. He didn’t even know he was that angry. “My father’s actions are no more my mother’s fault than they are my brother’s. None of us knew about your father. We didn’t even know you existed, but we have felt nothing but pain since…” Shuri’s words were meant to be calming, but they had the exact opposite effect.

He snatched his hand away, slamming it down on the table, Shuri barely pulling her arm away on time. “I’m sorry that my existence has caused you such anguish, Princess. Finding out pops was a piece of shit musta been a real surprise.”

“Erik…” Queen Romanda started, but Erik cut her off.

“Tell me, Auntie. When you were sharing the good news with the fam did you ever stop and think, ‘Gee, I wonder how fucked up it musta been to be a black, parentless Omega in America?’ because let me tell y’all…”

“Prince N’Jadaka.” Erik felt his back go rigid, the hairs at his nape stand as the new voice boomed through the room. He took a breath, watching everyone turn to the entrance of the room. Some primordial part of Erik told he should do the same. Commanded that he bend and fold to the owner of that voice, bare his neck and submit. But he resisted, just like he resisted all those weeks ago when he first set eyes on the king of Wakanda.

“Hey, cuz. I was wondering when you’d show up.” Erik forced his mouth to curve up, smirk as his cousin entered his line of sight. A moment ago he’d felt so much anger that his body shook with it, his eyes prickled with rage. But he wouldn’t show that to T’Challa. He learned long ago never to show Alphas that type of emotion. The kind that could be mistaken for hysteria and weakness. They’d only take advantage of it. “Guess you heard the good news?”

 


End file.
